Viridian
by emberin
Summary: Tellius. Yes, his brother deserved the noble colour. Rolf, Oscar-centric.


Viridian

DISCLAIMER: Fire Emblem and its characters belong to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems.

* * *

Rolf liked forests. 

He would hide between the bushes, curling up behind trees, tickled by the grass. Ever since he was a kid, he would run to the one near his house to hide from his troubles. Whenever he was angry at Boyd for teasing him, or sad at his family not being able to find a cure for their father, he would bury himself in the lush green foliage and feel comforted by its soothing colour.

Oscar was always the one to find him.

He would scour the forest near their house, every inch of it mapped out in his mind with how many times he did it. By the time he reached Rolf, the younger brother would either be crying or asleep. Rolf would open his eyes to find Oscar in front of him, and he would run into his arms. Oscar was always patient as Rolf continued to sniff and sob.

In amongst his brother's green hair and grass-coloured clothes, Rolf felt comforted.

* * *

Rolf liked forests. 

When the Greil Mercenaries fought, he would take to nearby trees, scale them and perch in them to shoot arrows. The branches twisted themselves with thick leaves to offer very good cover, and not being able to be targeted easily saved his life more than once, especially when arrows ran low.

Once, when there was only a flat plain, Rolf had had to follow behind frontline fighters in order to shoot. He had been backing Boyd when a fast swordsman got around Boyd's axe swing and began heading for him. As the distance between them got smaller, it was too late to shoot, the enemy was too close –

A scream came out of the swordsman's mouth as a lance was thrust into his chest. The whinny of a familiar horse made Rolf look up as Oscar galloped by. He smiled at Rolf, but the archer couldn't help but notice that the greave on his brother's left leg had been shorn off and his leg was bleeding. Before Rolf could say anything about it, though, he saw an enemy approaching and fired at him.

Even so, he knew that Oscar, in his polished green armour, was circling him for the rest of the battle, watching him.

Protecting him.

* * *

Rolf liked forests. 

There was always some kind of fruit tree or berry bush nearby to satiate his hunger. Glades of grass for sleeping on were always there if he looked hard enough and the tree branches lent themselves as bows and arrows. They provided him with things needed to survive and he was thankful.

Oscar was always the cook of their family.

When they had to live on their own, every meal was a blessing. Oscar would turn the most frugal of materials into a feast. He was the one who had met Greil and asked for a new home, who had granted his haven. Even then, Oscar adopted the position of the mercenaries' cook. When he and Mist came out with everyone's meals, he had a smile on his face and seemed genuinely happy when everyone dug into their food with gusto.

The green apron may have looked ridiculous on him, but Rolf never complained.

* * *

Rolf liked forests. 

He always felt like the forest looked after him when he was in it; he never fell into danger and it kept him that way. In any forest, he had an impeccable sense of direction, even though he easily got lost elsewhere. Almost always, he found a healing bush handy for use. It was like the forest cared for him, for his safety.

Oscar stayed by his bedside when he was sick.

Even the combined efforts of Rhys and Mist couldn't completely cure him of an illness that made him bedridden for a time, though the priest had reassured him that it would quickly come to pass. His brothers took turns watching over him, though nearly every time he had awoken it was Oscar there. However, when Boyd grabbed Rhys for a check-up, a worried look crossed their faces.

Rolf's situation had gotten worse than expected. He was barely conscious at the time, but he remembered Boyd grabbing Rhys by the shoulders and shouting. Oscar was trying to hold in whatever he was feeling, but the last thing he saw was his brother's clenched fists shaking.

After that, Rolf only remembered bits and pieces of events. Boyd sleeping beside his bed. Oscar smiling sadly as he applied another soaked towel to his forehead. Mist breathing heavily as she continued to hold her staff up over him. Shinon grimacing him and telling him to suck it up like a man or he'd never surpass his master. Boyd screaming, "You can't leave, you hear me?" while Oscar was telling the fighter to calm down.

It wasn't until a week later that he felt somewhat healthy again when he opened his eyes. Boyd must have watched him all night again, because he was sound asleep. Oscar, however, was looking out the window. Rolf called out his name and sat up.

The lanceman's eyes widened in surprise, and he immediately hugged Rolf. He then woke Boyd and told him to spread the news.

It had been those green eyes that belied his brother's calm; the care they had in them told Rolf that behind the strong face was a worried, caring brother.

* * *

Rolf liked forests. 

He could see them from far, far away, and there was always one nearby. Even in Melior, he could see them on the outskirts of the city. They were always there, always ready to welcome him with open arms. And in there he could escape the turmoil and strife he faced. They had a commanding presence in the world around him.

Oscar was always there.

It had been Oscar that saved him from a potential life-threatening injury, but in the process it had taken his life instead. Rolf and Boyd had returned with him on their shoulders, both not able to find the ability to cry. Everyone else mourned the loss of such a kind man, yet the two of them did not find it in themselves to join them.

Rolf didn't know why; shouldn't he feel sad that Oscar was gone, or even angry at himself that he had indirectly been the cause of his death?

One afternoon, he dazedly entered his brother's room. Nothing had been touched since his death.

Nostalgia rushed him.

There was a freshly strung bow, a present Rolf had made for his brother when he was learning the bow. A cloth lay on a table – Rolf knew it was his brother's polishing cloth. Next to it was the whetstone for his lance. His bed lay clean, the sheets neatly tucked in. As expected from his brother, of course.

Rolf noticed someone enter the room. It was Boyd.

"So, you came too?" the axeman asked. Rolf only nodded.

For a while, the two stared at various things in the room, each absorbed in his own thoughts, until Boyd spoke again.

"He's still with us, you know." It was said with such certainty that Rolf's mind didn't question it until Boyd left, leaving the younger brother in the room alone.

He looked around again. Everything was the way Oscar would have liked it – but something felt amiss. Rolf paced around the room, looking at every nook and cranny before his eyes rested on it, leaning by the doorway that led into his own room.

It was a green-painted lance.

Rolf wondered why Oscar would leave his lance there – wasn't it impractical to run from one door to another? – but then Boyd's words hit him.

"You were – no, are always watching over me, aren't you?" His brother continued to reach out for them. This lance was his symbol.

Rolf took the lance and sat on the bed, and, for the longest time, stared at the lance.

Oscar truly deserved the colour of the forest.

* * *

I wanted to make the last section shorter, but it kind of got out of my control. It would have made for a better balance, I think. But this was two ideas I originally had, meshed together. I think it's better like this. 

Thoughts?

-EmbeRin


End file.
